


The Spur and the Spring

by Xalthir (TheHomebrood)



Series: Ley Lines [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, The Homebrood
Genre: Canon, Gen, ley lines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:47:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27460666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHomebrood/pseuds/Xalthir
Series: Ley Lines [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2006326





	The Spur and the Spring

Saltpeter rested the weight of his sheathed blade on his shoulder and adjusted the cigar between his beak. Plumes of smoke rose up over the lip of his hat and vanished into the night sky. Overhead the twinkling stars, unblemished by the lights of a city, were allowed to show off their true majesty in milky, flowing patterns hidden behind the full moon. For a moment Saltpeter scanned that boundless sky and took it in. 

It never failed to take his breath away.

On the horizon was his destination, somewhere he’d heard about during his travels but never visited: _Brightside Oasis_. The stop was a destination for traveling merchants and Dusters who needed somewhere to rest on the trail. It was nestled into a copse of trees in the middle of the desert. The grove loomed over the pristine spring that drew so many travelers. Flickering lights between the tree trunks, even at this distance, cast bizarre shadows across the dunes and craggy outcroppings. Talking could be heard from this here though it was impossible to determine what was being said.

When Saltpeter arrived at the oasis he found several large carts full of barrels, and people moving to and fro to fill them with spring water. On the other side of the spring, an impoverished family drank with their hands while the merchants’ gaudy carts stood only feet away. Saltpeter looked between the two and tilted his hat as he approached one of the merchants.

“Mind if I ask what y’all are doin’?” Saltpeter asked, scrutinizing the carts.

The caravan owner was crouched, pulling water with a pump out of the spring, working the lever by hand. He glanced at Saltpeter once the beastman spoke. “Aye, we come out here to bottle up the spring water. You a Duster?”

Saltpeter shook his head. “Traveling poet.”

“Gotcha. Yeah, the folks in the city eat this stuff up.” He said, patting the barrel. “We tell ‘em it’s from some far away land since nobody can make the trip out to prove us wrong.” The merchant grinned. “If you need some quick money, we could always use some extra hands.”

Saltpeter looked to the poor folk who were using their cupped palms and hardly functional containers to gather their drinking water. “Did ya’ offer them the work? They look like they could use the help more than m’self.”

The man followed Saltpeter’s gesture and his expression twisted into one of irritation. “They’re more likely to steal from me than help.”

Saltpeter’s eyes narrowed. “Nah, I’m good.” He decided abruptly.

The merchant shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Saltpeter didn’t like it, but he also didn’t like sour candy or black coffee so he kept it to himself and found a spot to sit and eat.

His gaze went to the poor family on the edge of the water and he thought of his own childhood, fragmented memories barely strung together by the small threads he’d placed not to lose them. Before he’d learned to trade in stories, he traded in valuable moments. That had cost him dearly.

Saltpeter was pulled from his thoughts by the sight of a familiar figure appearing in the corner of his vision. The wiry frame of a skeleton, standing there and staring Saltpeter down from under the brim of his hat.

“Damn,” Saltpeter hissed at the omen, grabbing the handle of his blade.

The owner of the caravan screamed as the water whipped up from the spring, grabbed him by the arm, and yanked him into the deep. Ribbons of blood shot out from the drink, spewing into the air like geysers, and the decapitated head of the caravan owner sailed out of the spring before landing squarely in front of his employees. The panic began.

Bladed tendrils shot out from within the spring, slicing flesh and wood as if it were nothing more than paper. The assault was a blur of blood and viscera as Saltpeter pulled the trigger on his sword’s sheath and stepped in to start parrying. There was an explosion of movement as the weapon came free faster than the eye could follow.

The spring began to change, pushing all the water towards the edge until there was a net of violent bladed liquid slashing at anything that came close. In the center, hovering several inches above the ground, was a mummified figure who had its legs crossed, hollowed eyes staring forward in infinite thirst. It seemed angry, distant.

There was a struggle as Saltpeter progressed towards the pool, the screaming dying down as the dead lost their ability to wail. The only remaining sounds were of Saltpeter desperately fighting his way past the blades, but moments after the silence set into the spring the tendrils stopped and slowed. They hovered, looking skyward as the creature sat still, quiet.

Saltpeter looked to a cracked bowl that had landed near the center of the pool, stained by the blood of the family and merchants that had been slaughtered in the attack. He gathered up the bowl and scooped water into it from the pool. The liquid blades angled themselves at him in a sudden motion, but he held a hand up and spoke. “Let me walk to you.” He said, stepping past the wall of angles and towards the creature within.

The being did not respond but the blades shrank back slightly as he approached.

Saltpeter held out the water, offering it to the creature. “A drink? You must be thirsty, you’ve been here a long time, friend.”

The creature’s frozen, rigor-set body barely twitched and a soft low sound came from its chest. Saltpeter leaned in and pressed the bowl to its mouth, tilting the head back and letting the water flow down the corpse’s throat. After a moment’s pause, a gentle breeze swept through and the being faded into smoke and ash, floating away in the wind.

The water came crashing down. Saltpeter braced himself as the cool drink slammed into his body and rolled him brutally against the bottom of the spring, he twisted and found himself clinging to the shore, pulling himself out.

Before him were a pair of booted feet and Saltpeter coughed before looking up to see the Lone Ranger standing over him.

“Why didn’t you do somethin’?!” Saltpeter snarled. He got to his feet, clothes and feathers dripping water and blood.

“I cannot fix the world, Saltpeter, I don’t have that kind of power. I can’t bring people back to life, I can’t return their souls to their body, and I can’t protect everyone.”

Saltpeter shouted in anger, punching a nearby broken cask, shattering what was left before turning to face the being before him. “I’m tired of watching innocent people die in front of me! It’s a curse. It’s _you_.” He growled, drawing his weapon suddenly and rushing towards the Ranger. The blade came in quick and before it could connect there was a loud snap. The Lone Ranger’s palm had stopped the sword effortlessly, glove now cut to reveal the bone hand beneath.

“We can fix the world together, however.” The Lone Ranger said softly.

Saltpeter felt his body slow, his heart return to normal, the carnage around him slowly numbing his mind. After a few moments of intense consideration, he sheathed his blade and took a breath. “How?”

The Lone Ranger tipped his hat. “You’re gonna need a few good souls.”

———

As the sun broke the horizon and dawn began to paint the sky to denote the start of yet another day, Saltpeter stabbed the shovel into the ground at the base of the final grave. He glanced at the ground where he’d drawn the circle with salt, the blood he’d used still staining the dirt and sand. He turned and took one last moment to survey the oasis.

“Alright.” He said to the wind. “Let’s go find some kindred spirits.”


End file.
